


Happy snowbaz day, Baz is fucking dead

by Rosethorn22



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Baz dies what more do you want me to say, Death, Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:14:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28294404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosethorn22/pseuds/Rosethorn22
Summary: What would happen if there was a war, and simon and baz fought to the death??AKA the one where Simon kills bazI'm so sorry
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Happy snowbaz day, Baz is fucking dead

**Author's Note:**

> I tweeted about writing this as a joke but people told me to actually do it so. Blame them not me <3
> 
> This is my first fanfic so if its good tell me please thank you!! And of course happy snowbaz anniversary

Baz and I are in the catacombs. Outside, a war is being waged; the air is thick with magic and blood and despair, the lawn is littered with bodies- dead and alive. Whenever I imagined our final showdown it was out there in the open, with the whole world of mages bearing witness to the climax of our 8 long years of animosity. But, as the battle started, Baz caught my eye and led me away from the bloodshed and into our own private battleground.   
It’s fitting, I suppose, that when one of us finally defeats the other the only eyes watching will be the ones of the already dead.

“Have you come here to kill me, Snow?”He jokes, but the smirk across his lips doesn't reach his eyes. This time it’s the truth.   
And we both know it.  
I growl at him in lieu of a response, and his face darkens as I start the incantation for my sword. He gets the first blow- ‘And they all fall down’- and my blade crashes into the wall as I try to keep my balance, sending skulls toppling around us. He shouts something in latin, and the heat of his magic passes over my arms as I bat the spell away. The eerie peace that once sent shivers down my spine is gone; replaced by bones crunching under our feet and magic bouncing between walls and shimmering in the air.

Baz is the better mage between us by far- he knows it as well as I do- and he’s keeping his distance so I can’t take advantage of my sword. (I much prefer it when we fight with our fists like Normals. He may be stronger than me, but I've been fistfighting since I was born, so the playing field is even enough.) Usually, when we fight, I can switch off my brain and let my arms and legs use their instinct to protect me and hit him where it’ll hurt most. Fighting with magic, however, requires focus- concentration, level headedness and quick thinking that Baz has down to the T at the start of his name. Frustration and anger overwhelm me in a way he seems able to avoid, and when I react too slowly and fall to the ground in a blinding flash of pain, the realisation hits me that this could be the day I die.

I lie still, hands covering my head, waiting for the final spell to hit, the final wave of pain, the damage that’s too extreme for my body to fight.  
It doesn’t come.  
When I turn (slowly, cautiously)(fearfully) Baz’s face has fallen. As my eyes meet his, I see tears he’s too stubborn to let fall, and a reluctance (dare I say refusal) to do what must be done, and a tiny spark of hope flickers to life in my chest.

Before he wipes his expression clean and raises his wand, and the hope inside me dies in place of an urgency to get to him before he gets to me. An inexplicable need to stay alive.

After being trained for my inevitable death for nearly a decade, I find that when the moment comes, there’s only one thought pounding over and over in my head.

I don’t want to die.

So, as Baz lifts his wand to deliver the killing blow, I lunge forward and thrust my blade through his chest. He staggers back against the wall as his wand clatters to the floor.

As his wand clatters to the floor.  
After he threw it to the side in surrender. 

Merlin and Morgana what have I done.

His knees give out and he slides to the ground. I follow him, crouching at his side as he stares at me and smiles weakly.  
“You should've used fire, Snow. Ended it quickly.”  
Pools of red are spreading across his shirt. Blood begins to dribble from his lips.   
I wait for the joy, the triumph of victory to wash over me. Instead I feel empty, numb; and underneath that a guilt and horror I know will stay with me till the day I die. 

“I’m sorry,” I say to him, and it doesn’t shock me that it comes out as a sob.  
“It’s ok, Simon.” He reassures me. His breathing is getting more laboured by the second, my sword is still sticking out of his chest, and he’s the one telling me everything will be ok.  
Cowardice and self hatred are the newest feelings stabbing holes through my already battered heart.

“You called me Simon,” I remark, and he laughs slightly, before coughing and wincing at every agonising movement of his body.

The blood is everywhere, now.

For the first time I see real fear pass across his face, as his organs begin to lose their fight against time.

“What am I supposed to do without you?” It comes out as a whisper.  
“Maybe you should've thought of that before you run me through with your sword.”  
I’ll miss that. His wit. I’ve spent so much time obsessing over the things I hated about him, but I’m starting to realise I only hated them because they’re the things I love the most.

And now it’s too late.

I don’t notice the tears running down my face until a thumb against my cheek wipes them away. Baz leaves his hand pressed to my face, and realisation and sorrow wash over me like they have countless times today.

“I love you,” he says, and it comes out surer than anything I’ve ever heard him say before. “I always have and I always will.”  
“How can you love me now that I’ve killed you?”  
“Don’t be presumptuous Snow. I’m not dead yet.”  
I try to laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. I take his hand from my cheek and press his fingers to my mouth, as the tears streaking down my face begin to get mirrored in his own, and his shuddering breaths start to sound more like gasps.

“You called me Simon before,” and he smiles.  
“No I didn’t.”  
“Baz?”  
“Hm?”  
“I love you too.”

His eyes go blank.

They say you should die a noble death. You should retire from this world with bravery, and honour. The Mage drilled that into me- “You should be brave Simon, even in death.”  
Now I know nothing about death is brave. Or honourable, or noble. It’s just a lie people tell themselves to cover up the pain and the fear.   
Even he was scared, at the very end.

And he was perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed if this hurt you I'm sorry (but not really)


End file.
